


even my phone misses your call, by the way

by springdreaming



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fix-It, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springdreaming/pseuds/springdreaming
Summary: After Amanda leaves for college, Adrian and Robert find new ways to pass the time.





	even my phone misses your call, by the way

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first of all let me go on record as having said that I haven't written anything in over a year and I can't believe that this is the thing that made me want to break that streak. I never expected to love Robert as much as I do, and I wanted to give him a happier ending than the one that the game had in store for him, so this is a fix-it of sorts. I love him and I just think he deserves the world (and a lot of rough sex. that too lol). So I think it's only fair to note that this story contains a fair amount of spoilers for his route through to the end of the game.
> 
> While I'm dishing out warnings, I included the Dadsona I made during my playthrough, partially because I'm a bad writer who can't force myself to write in the first person no matter how hard I try, and also because I really, really like the name that I picked. So if that isn't your cup of tea, I totally forgive you for not wanting to continue. That said, if you do decide to keep reading, thank you and enjoy!
> 
> Title taken from the lyrics to the song _From the Dining Table_ by Harry Styles. If there's a soundtrack to go with this fic, that's as good as any I know.

All things considered, they begin at the beginning.

 

Amanda moves out of the house the third weekend in August. Adrian helps her pack, and they spend the day loading box after suitcase after duffle bag into the back of the U-Haul she and a friend are renting for the trip down to the university they’ve both been accepted to. When it’s over, he stands on the front porch, watches her waving from the passenger’s seat as they pull out of the driveway. It’s only when he goes back inside that he finally realizes he’s been left with an empty house and an emptier schedule than he’s been used to working with for the better part of eighteen years.

 

Suddenly, it seems as if there’s nothing but time, stretching out in front of him like the ever-reaching horizon over the coastline of Maple Bay. Standing in the doorway of his house, one hand braced over the door frame because all of a sudden, he feels the need to hold onto something, it seems almost daunting, the idea of all that time spent alone. He’s spent the last eighteen years as someone’s father, and before that, a husband. He doesn’t know if he has what it takes to be alone now that this is what it’s come down to.

 

There’s nothing he can do about it for the time being, so he shakes his head as if to scatter his thoughts and steps farther into the room. He spends the first few minutes sitting on the couch, thumbing through TV channels for something to watch, but there’s nothing on, and he’s distracted, anyway.

 

Looking around at the walls of this place they call home -- the place they’ve lived in for almost a year now -- he feels something click behind his eyes as an idea takes hold in his brain. He gets to his feet, and within minutes the living room has been completely rearranged, most of the furniture shoved toward one end of the room and the rest spilling into the kitchen.

 

In the garage he finds an old pile of newspapers on a shelf next two cans of paint, leftover from their old house. He carries them inside, all the while thinking of Amanda and how she would react to know that it’s been less than one hour since she left and he’s already going insane. When she does come back, he thinks decisively, things will look different.

 

The sun is just beginning to set by the time he has the newspapers laid down on the floor and the paint poured into trays. There’s tape along the light switches and trim now, and he’s even managed to set up their old ladder along one of the walls on the far end of the room. He dips the edge of a roller into the wet paint, giving the room one last glance before he gets to work. It feels strangely cathartic, the physical labor coupled with the tediousness of the project, and Adrian breathes a little easier, because this is something he knows how to do.

 

The work goes faster than he expects it to, paint roller in hand, and this is how Robert finds him.

 

“Knock knock,” he says without actually knocking, by way of announcing his presence. Adrian turns around to see him standing in the doorway, looking just like he always does in blue jeans and his usual black leather riding jacket. The door hasn’t been shut once since he’d said goodbye to Amanda earlier, hanging open to let out the smell of the paint. Robert shuffles a little on his feet. It looks like he just walked right in.

 

Adrian keeps his gaze light, the way he’s had to train himself to look at Robert, and steps down from where he’d previously been standing on the ladder. “Hi,” he tries, the word coming out slightly hoarse from disuse, or from something else entirely. He clears his throat. “Uh, come in. Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

 

Robert shakes his head. “Nah, s’alright,” he says, and, from behind his back, he produces a bottle of whiskey wrapped in a paper bag from the liquor store. “I thought you could use some company, with your little girl up and gone.”

 

He says the words gruffly, keeping his eyes down. Adrian searches his face, but there’s not a trace of the sadness that used to show on Robert’s face during their midnight encounters at Jim and Kim’s in his expression now. “Sure,” he replies, trying to see this for the gesture of goodwill that it probably is. He moves into the kitchen, careful to step over the chairs and pieces of the bookshelf that are strewn everywhere, reaching up to grab two glass tumblers out of one of the cabinets. “Let’s go out on the porch,” he says. Robert follows him out, shutting the door behind them.

 

It’s dark outside, the air fresh with the sounds of summer. The locusts are singing in the trees, and he can hear the sound of children laughing, probably from behind Craig’s house across the wide bend of the culdesac. A few yards away, fireflies light up on the lawn. Adrian lowers himself into a sitting position on the step, feeling the exhaustion from the day’s work seeping into his bones.

 

Robert sits down next to him and busies himself with pouring a generous amount of whiskey into each glass. He passes the first to Adrian, who takes a long drink, even if he still has trouble getting used to the taste of it after all the time that’s passed. He stays quiet, which has less to do with the fact that Robert prefers it that way and more with the closeness of the position in which they’ve found themselves. The step is so narrow that there’s barely room for the two of them to sit down -- if Adrian leaned over just a bit, they would probably bump shoulders.

 

Adrian casts a furtive glance at the other man, searching for his mouth in the dying light. Robert’s lips twist together at the bitterness of the alcohol, and Adrian feels a stab of longing that’s sharper than the knife he knows Robert always carries in his coat pocket. It’s been three months, he wants to say, since they last kissed. He can still remember the shape of Robert’s mouth, the way it had tasted, and he wonders if Robert ever thinks about it, too. Then again, probably not. He doesn’t know if Robert would consider that something worth remembering.

 

“It’s too bad you didn’t invite Mary to come along,” he jokes, rewarded for his effort when Robert tips his head back and laughs.

 

“I’m sure that would go over real well, with Joseph right across the street takin’ care of the kids,” he says, scratching his chin. “Besides, I don’t see any young men around here for her to torture. Do you?”

 

Adrian shakes his head. “Just us.”

 

Robert tilts his glass, swallows down the last of the whiskey at the bottom. “Just us,” he echoes.

 

They lapse into silence again, albeit a comfortable one, and Adrian thinks about the last time he spent any significant amount of time with Mary. It was probably that last night at the bar, just before Amanda’s going-away party. She had told him to keep an eye on Robert, and so had Val, except nearly three months have passed, and he’s hardly seen Robert in all that time. Adrian has been busy preparing for Amanda to go to college, and he knows that Robert spent some time visiting Val in the city, so maybe that’s all there is to it.

 

Then again, he thinks as he remembers the words Robert said to him under the cherry blossom tree, maybe not.

 

“So,” Robert breaks the silence, tearing him from his thoughts. “Are you gonna tell me why I walked in on you remodeling your house, like, six hours after Amanda left?”

 

“Oh. That.” Adrian drags a hand down his face, groaning. Unscrewing the bottle of whiskey with his teeth, Robert refills his glass, waiting patiently until Adrian is ready to talk. It’s something he’s gotten relatively good at, having recently come into the experience of sharing his emotional burdens with other people. “It was stupid. I had a momentary freakout. Probably related to my only daughter leaving home for the first time, realizing my own mortality, you know. The usual.”

 

“Huh.” Robert leans over to top off Adrian’s drink, their knees knocking together as he does so. It’s more companionable than it is uncomfortable, and it makes Adrian feel just a little better. It’s nice. “So you thought the painting would help because…” He trails off.

 

Adrian shrugs. “I don’t know. Gets me out of my own head, I guess. After my wife died, Amanda went on a school trip to New York, and I stayed home and painted the house purple. Of course, when we put the house on the market last year I had to paint over it with beige, but hey, it was fun while it lasted.”

 

Robert takes a drink out of his glass and hums, long and low in his throat.

 

“I just feel like I’m going crazy, you know?” Adrian says. There’s something about saying the words out loud that makes him feel better, for some reason. “Now she’s gone, and I feel like I have all the time in the world and nothing to do.”

 

Robert glances at him sideways, something unreadable in his expression. He thinks for a moment it might be annoyance -- after all, it was Robert, not Adrian, whose daughter left him without him ever knowing if she was going to come back -- but then he looks away, his gaze drifting to the fireflies in the yard, dancing in their light.

 

“Well, then,” he says, “let’s do something to pass the time.”

 

\--

 

True to his word, a few days later Robert invites him to go hunting.

 

“Hunting for what?” is the first thing out of Adrian’s mouth after he’s climbed into the passenger’s seat of Robert’s truck. He’s immediately assaulted by Betsy, who clambers excitedly into his lap and makes it her personal mission to lick every square inch of his face. This is the first time he’s been around her since the last time he was at Robert’s house, but she seems happy to see him nonetheless.

 

Robert shoots him a look as he pulls out of the driveway, as if the answer itself is terribly obvious. Adrian stares back at him with a blank expression until he gives a small huff. “Cryptids. Duh.”

 

Adrian laughs out loud, but Robert doesn’t bother to elaborate further as he pulls the truck onto the expressway. This is probably another one of Robert’s jokes, but he quiets down after a minute or two on the off-chance that he’s actually being serious. His ratio for correctly guessing Robert’s intent is roughly one to one, even on a good day.

 

Robert reaches over to turn up the volume on the radio, and Adrian occupies himself by looking out the window at the blur of trees that skirt the edge of the freeway. They’re out of the city now, in open country. Eventually, Robert takes an exit that branches off from the highway and turns into a dirt road. The trees are getting closer and closer together, and before Adrian knows it, they’re pulling to a stop in what he judges to be the middle of a dense forest.

 

Robert takes the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the truck. Adrian opens his door and reluctantly follows him around to the back, which is has been fully stocked with a variety of nets, traps, and even a few makeshift weapons. Adrian picks up a baseball bat, which has been taped at one end, reinforced with a pair of scissors and several long nails.

 

“Uh.” Adrian looks sideways at Robert, who’s opening a lockbox to reveal a pump-action shotgun and an assortment of semiautomatic hunting rifles. “I take it you were serious about the whole hunting cryptids thing.”

 

Robert rolls his eyes, only kind of meanly, and makes a small grunt of affirmation. Adrian watches as he selects one of the bigger-looking nets, throwing it over his shoulder.

 

“Wait,” Adrian says, the gears in his head already turning. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that thing we saw in the woods last time, right? Because I like my soul and I want it to stay exactly where it currently is, as in attached to me and not ripped from my body by some kind of zoologically improbable entity.”

 

“What?” Robert makes a face. “No, of course not. These aren’t even the same woods.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Adrian holds back the palpable urge to heave a sigh of relief. “So, what exactly are we hunting?”

 

“Bigfoot, mainly,” Robert says seriously. He points to the weapon Adrian is currently holding, which looks like it came straight out of a bad zombie movie and definitely not something that any normal human should be keeping in the back of his pickup truck. “You’re gonna need that, though, in case any thunderbirds come along. They’re prone to swooping.”

 

Robert’s face is the very picture of sincerity. Adrian doesn’t know whether he feels closer to bursting out in laughter or tears, but it’s definitely one of the two. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Oh, right,” Robert says suddenly, like he’s just remembered something important. He walks around and open the passenger’s side door of the truck, rummaging around in the center console for a moment before coming back holding something small and square in his hands. “Here, take this.”

 

Adrian quirks an eyebrow at him, staring at dubiously at the object. It’s an ancient-looking polaroid camera which looks like it’s probably older than Amanda, if he had to guess. “What’s that for?”

 

“Take a wild guess,” Robert says drily. Adrian opens his mouth to say something, but whatever intelligent comeback he had in mind all but dies on his lips as Robert takes a step forward, insinuating himself into Adrian’s personal space in order to secure the camera strap around his neck. Adrian swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, and tries to look anywhere that isn’t in the general direction of Robert’s mouth, the stubble on his chin. He fails miserably, of course, and he can’t help but wonder if Robert can hear the noises his heart is making, stalling inside his chest.

 

Robert steps back to admire his handiwork, giving Adrian all of three seconds to get a handle on his breathing. Adrian reaches for the camera, turning it over with his free hand. “What is this, 1982?” he quips, the effect nearly ruined by how breathless his voice sounds.

 

“Ha-ha,” Robert says. “You’re just lucky I stuck you with the easy job, pretty boy.” He turns away and locks the door to the pickup before throwing a glance over his shoulder. “You coming?”

 

He starts walking, Betsy at his heels, and after a moment Adrian follows. It’s almost too quiet out here, the leaves crunching under their feet as they step through the small patches of sunlight that are shining through the trees over their heads. Robert weaves through the undergrowth, makes his way under branches and over fallen tree trunks so expertly that it seems like he’s done it dozens of times -- and maybe he has, Adrian thinks to himself as he leads them deeper and deeper into the forest.

 

Twice he stops without warning, lifts and cocks the rifle in his hands so quickly that Adrian nearly pisses himself on the spot. The first time it’s only a deer, the second a bird that gives a particularly loud squawk before taking off into the sky. Each time, Adrian has to clamp a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from screaming -- if he did make a sound that pathetic, Robert would probably never let him hear the end of it.

 

They’ve been walking for almost half an hour when Robert decides to break the silence. “So,” he starts, ducking under an overhanging tree branch and holding it up so that Adrian can do the same, “how’s Amanda holding up? You talked to her at all?”

 

Adrian looks away, ducks his head to hide his smile. Leave it to Robert to drag him all the way out to the middle of nowhere under some elaborate ruse, just to start a conversation.

 

“She called that first night,” he says. “After you left. She sounded happy. Her classes don’t start until the day after tomorrow, so I guess I’ll know more then.”

 

Robert lets out a low whistle. “Still can’t believe the kid’s already in college. Seems like she grew up awful fast.”

 

Adrian looks sideways at him, surprised to see that the expression on Robert’s face is almost wistful. “It sounds almost like you miss her,” he says.

 

Robert grins. “Yeah, well, maybe I do. She was the only kid on the block who wasn’t a complete square, that’s for damn sure.”

 

Adrian almost opens his mouth to say _no one else?_ but then he remembers that probably the only other person that case could be made for is Lucien, who had once tried to sell him a dime bag full of _oregano_ , for Christ’s sake. And even if he hadn’t, he figures that the matter is subjective. At least according to Robert, anyway.

 

“What about Val?” he asks instead, changing the subject.

 

“Huh?” Robert glances at him, looking vaguely insulted. “Val’s no square. I should know, I raised her myself.”

 

Adrian laughs. “No, I just meant, how’s she doing?”

 

“Oh.” Robert gives a little shrug. Adrian watches the affronted expression disappear from his features, only to be replaced with a strange look, one he can’t quite place. “She’s doin’ okay, I guess. Went up to visit her a couple’a months ago -- everything seemed fine.”

 

He doesn’t say anymore, but something -- the fidgeting of Robert’s hands, maybe, or the fact that he can’t seem to look Adrian in the eye -- gives Adrian the distinct impression that there’s more to the story. “But,” he presses slowly, a question mark hanging at the end of a dot dot dot.

 

Robert makes a small noise of agitation in his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “But nothing,” he says, throwing in a scoff for good measure. He picks up the pace a little, as if he’s trying to put just a bit of distance between himself and Adrian, and the unasked question hanging in the air around them. “She’s fine, everything’s great, end of story.”

 

“Robert--” he starts to say, his heart twisting in his chest. They’re treading on thin ice here, he knows, the same subject they were edging towards during those conversations in Robert’s truck on the way home from the bar, and later, in the darkness of his living room. It feels heavy in his mind, too large to speak even in the open air in the middle of the woods, and not for the first time, Adrian finds that he’s afraid.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Robert interrupts, effectively cutting him off, and whatever Adrian had planned on saying evaporates away into the thick summer air.

 

They walk for a bit longer before heading back to the truck, and Adrian doesn’t say a single word.

 

\--

 

“--and _then_ , guess what happened -- no, wait, you’ll never get it  -- he actually _ate_ it. Like, ate the whole thing, all in one bite. It was _beyond_ nasty.”

 

Adrian laughs quietly, listening to the sound of Amanda’s cackling on the other end of the line. He shifts the phone to his other ear, rolling his free shoulder tiredly as he stands at the sink, washing dishes. It’s late evening -- from the small window above the sink, he watches the sun go down, the last rays of sunlight filtering in.

 

“What happened next?” he asks, rinsing the last of the plates and setting it down on the drying rack.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. The others were pretty wasted, so I’m sure we left after that. He was so sick the next morning, though, like you wouldn’t believe. I probably won’t be going to another party like _that_ anytime soon.”

 

“Probably a good choice.” He walks into the living room, dropping down onto the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes before glancing sideways at the clock. It’s already getting late here, as opposed to the place where Amanda’s calling from, two hours ahead. “How are your grades doing?”

 

“Aw, _Dad_ ,” she whines so loudly that he has to pull the phone back from his ear just a bit. “No fair, the semester’s only just started.”

 

“That bad, huh?” he asks, teasing, as she huffs. He decides to change the subject. “Daisy and Carmensita keep asking me how you’re doing. I think they miss you.”

 

She laughs. “That’s sweet. I miss them too! Hey, how many days left until Christmas break?”

 

“Seventy-eight,” he tells her without missing a beat, which only makes her laugh harder. He doesn’t want to tell her that he started keeping track the night she left, marking a big black X on the calendar over every day that ticks by.

 

He’s opening his mouth to say something else when he hears the faint tone of a new notification coming in. Pulling the phone back from his face, he swipes out of the conversation to see a text from Robert lighting up the screen. _Come outside._

 

He’s off the couch and upright in a sitting position almost instantly. Cautiously, he leans over the back of the couch and lifts up a corner of one of the blinds until he’s looking outside. Sure enough, there’s a truck with its brights on parked in his driveway, flooding his living room with light.

 

His phone beeps again, a new text lighting up the screen. _Seriously. I will honk._

 

“Hey, Manda Panda,” he says into the receiver, “I may have to call you back.”

 

“What? Oh, sure, fine,” she says, sounding distracted.

 

Adrian’s eyes narrow. “Have you been texting this entire time?”

 

“Um, no,” Amanda says, in a voice that clearly suggests that she’s insulted at the very suggestion. “I’m playing Tap Tap Fish on my phone. FYI.” She pauses before asking, “Why, is something up?”

 

“Nothing,” he replies, too quickly. Then, reluctantly, “Uh, I’m probably about to go out with Robert. He’s outside.”

 

“Ooh, _Robert_ ,” she says, a familiar teasing note to her voice, one that Adrian hasn’t heard there for a very long time. “I guess I won’t wait up, then.”

 

“Just what is _that_ supposed to mean--” he starts to say, just before he hears the audible click of the line going dead. He supposes he’ll have to think of some way to get her back for that one, but in the meantime, he decides to get dressed and see what this is about.

 

It’s dark by the time he makes it out of the house, almost five minutes later. The sun has gone down, only the faintest light still visible over the tops of the houses across the street. As he walks around to the passenger’s side door, he sees a familiar face already sitting there next to Robert. Mary sidles over to make room for him as he approaches, looking just as acerbic and beautiful as ever.

 

“Get in, loser,” she says when he opens the door. “We’re going shopping.”

 

Adrian chuckles nervously as he slides in beside her, shutting the door when Robert starts backing out of the driveway. “Seriously, a Mean Girls reference? In this day and age?” he jokes, reaching up to tug his seat belt into place.

 

“Mean Girls is a cinematic masterpiece,” Robert declares from the driver’s seat. Mary laughs at that, an easy, breezy sound that has Adrian laughing, too. He feels some of the tension sliding out of his body as Robert turns onto the main road. From here, it’s almost a straight shot to Jim and Kim’s, and Adrian settles in for the ride.

 

“It sure is good to see you again, kid,” Mary says, sitting up a little taller so she can prop an elbow up on his shoulder. “Outside of a neighborhood barbeque, I mean.”

 

Adrian studies her face -- there’s something different about her, he thinks. She’s got her hair pulled back behind her ears for a change, her mouth stained bright red by her lipstick, and there’s a twinkle in her eye. She looks better, he decides. Not because of her change in style, and he can’t judge how things are going for her at home, but she looks almost happy.

 

“You too,” he tells her, and means it.

 

It’s only a short drive to the bar. Robert and Mary make a beeline for the entrance the minute they get out of the truck, and Adrian trails behind them at his own pace. It’s just as noisy and crowded as usual once they finally get inside. Robert goes to flag over the bartender at the same time that Mary heads to the restroom to powder her nose, and Adrian goes about looking for a booth for the three of them to sit in. He settles on one near the back where the others will still be able to see him, and sits himself down.

 

Robert finds him first, sliding into the seat across from him with three shot glasses balanced in his hands. Adrian is expecting whiskey -- honestly, when is Robert not drinking whiskey -- but it turns out to be an absolutely vile brand of tequila that burns his throat all the way down.

 

He shoots Robert a look that is two parts disgust and one part thinly-veiled contempt. The other man gives an apologetic shrug. “What? It’s tequila Tuesday.”

 

“So, ladies, what are we drinking?” Mary asks, having chosen this exact moment to materialize out of thin air directly next to the booth. She takes the shot like a pro, not so much as batting a single eyelash as she downs it and crawls into the booth beside Adrian. “Ooh, tequila. Nice.”

 

“Took you long enough in there,” Robert growls at her, feigning irritation. If it bothers him that he’s been replaced as her very best friend for the evening, he doesn’t show it. Mary steadfastly ignores him, turning to face Adrian again.

 

“Hey, your hair got longer,” she notices, reaching up to tug on his ponytail. Adrian goes bright red at the eyebrow raise that gets out of Robert. Mary just laughs. “Maybe there’s about to be a new hipster dad on the block.”

 

“Like hell,” Robert says. “Ten bucks says this guy still can’t name three indie bands to save his life.”

 

Mary laughs again when Adrian makes a face. He can’t, okay, but that’s not the point.

 

All in all, it’s a good night. The drinks flow easily and the conversation easier than that, and in between a rousing game of Never Have I Ever (which Robert wins) and an arm-wrestling match over the table (which Adrian loses, of course) they watch as Mary knocks back shots and flirts outrageously with the servers. Halfway through his third drink, Adrian decides it’s definitely the most fun he’s had since Amanda went away.

 

It’s more than a little sobering, the hollow feeling that thought puts in his chest. Adrian closes his eyes, tries to brace himself against the rush of loneliness that’s been building inside him up until now. Curious, to think that it’s been there this whole time, and it’s only now that Amanda is gone and he’s finally alone with his thoughts that he’s realizing the truth of it for the first time.

 

Sure, he still goes jogging with Craig once or twice a week -- occasionally drops by the Coffee Spoon to talk to Mat for a while, even sits in on one of Joseph’s Bible studies every now and again. It’s hovering just on the edge of friendship but not quite there, and it hurts just a little to think that he’s spent most of the past year spending time with Robert only to hear what he heard under that cherry blossom tree, and know that it had all been for nothing.

 

(But it wasn’t _nothing_ , he corrects himself a moment later, and knows that there hasn’t been a minute, not a single second of his time with Robert that he would ever consider to be wasted.)

 

Toward the end of the night, Robert announces to everyone within a five-foot vicinity that he has to piss like a racehorse, and staggers off to the bathroom. Adrian stares after him fondly, just drunk enough that his expression is absent and unguarded, and Mary walks over from where she’s been shooting darts with some college students in the corner.

 

“Easy there, Heart Eyes,” she says when he starts a little at the sound of her slipping into the booth to sit down beside him. “It’s just me.”

 

Adrian’s brain is working overtime trying to figure out what exactly she means by that when she interrupts his thoughts. “Are you ever gonna tell him, or not?”

 

He turns to look at her, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Tell him what?” he asks carefully.

 

Mary gives him a look that says, quite plainly, _you know what._ Adrian picks up his glass, presses the rim to his lips and takes a drink to try and buy himself some time. Mary taps her painted fingernails on the tabletop, waiting. “I have no plans to,” he says after a moment, measuring the words as they slide off his tongue. “Even if I did, I doubt it would change anything.”

 

She doesn’t reply immediately, and when Adrian looks up she’s staring at him with a strange look on her face. “Don’t you know?” she asks him, and for a moment, Adrien feels his heart stop beating. Time slows to a standstill before stopping altogether. “He called me a lot, you know. When he took that trip upstate to visit Val.” She speaks slowly, as if truth of what she’s saying is weighing her down, somehow. “You were all he talked about while he was away.”

 

Adrian can feel his mouth moving, but he can’t seem to make the words come out the way he wants them to. “I -- are you --” He breaks off, thinking of what happened under the cherry tree. “Back then, he said--”

 

“I know what he said.” Mary tilts her head impatiently. “He was going through a rough time. Haven’t you noticed the change in him? You make him happy,” she says, her voice gone soft, and in the same breath, Adrian realizes that it’s true.

 

Because Robert _is_ getting better, even if it might not always seem that way, even if he’s still awkward and cynical and has trouble articulating his feelings, sometimes. He still drinks, maybe more often than he should, but he’s not drinking to forget anymore. The expression he wears on his face these days isn’t as haunted as it used to be.

 

“I thought,” Adrian stammers, feeling like an utter fool, “I just assumed that he wanted me to leave him alone. That he didn’t want me.”

 

Mary rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling. “You know what they say. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. Mostly me. Who do you think has been talking you up to him for the past four months?”

 

Adrian leans back in his seat, feeling a little dazed. “I could kiss you right now, do you know that?” he asks her.

 

She gasps theatrically, throwing a hand over her chest in mock surprise. “I wish you wouldn’t. I _do_ have a husband, you know. It just wouldn’t be right.”

 

They’re still laughing about it when Robert comes out of the bathroom, and hey, if he wants to know why there are tears coming out of their eyes, it really isn’t any of his business.

 

\--

 

The time passes like this: summer turns into fall, the long, sprawling afternoons giving way to early sunsets and chilly evenings, and, slowly but surely, Adrian gets used to being around Robert again.

 

It doesn’t mean anything, not really. Adrian convinces himself that it doesn’t mean anything, even if the words that Mary said to him at the bar are a constant weight on his mind, buzzing around some dark corner of his memory. He and Robert don’t say anything of substance to one another when they’re sharing a beer in the backyard, going to the park with Betsy, sitting on separate ends of the couch in Adrian’s living room watching the game, but that’s alright. They’re both just making it through, day after day, the best that they can.

 

It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. Robert keeps coming back, again and again and again, and Adrian likes spending time with him, so he doesn’t mind shifting the old feelings into a drawer in the back of his mind, one clearly labeled _do not open_ , at least not for now.

 

(But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish for it -- doesn’t mean that he doesn’t lay awake at night sometimes, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for something that will never come.)

 

One night, he wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing.

 

“I can’t sleep,” Robert says without preamble the second Adrian picks up. “You up for a drive?”

 

Adrian sits up a little in bed. He’d been fast asleep, but he’s never felt more awake than he does right at this moment. “Sure,” he hears himself say, his mouth working faster than his brain, for once. “Give me a minute to get dressed, but, yeah. Come on over.”

 

“Thanks.” Robert hangs up, and Adrian gives himself exactly ten seconds to gather his thoughts before he gets to his feet, tugging on some old jeans and a t-shirt. He drags a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, and is just in the process of pulling it up into a ponytail when he hears the sound of Robert’s truck in the driveway. He doesn’t honk this time, given that it’s nearly four in the morning. Thank God for small favors.

 

Adrian grabs his keys off of the coffee table, shoving them into the pockets of his jeans as he walks out of the house. Robert watches him from the driver’s seat while he circles around to the passenger’s side door -- Adrian doesn’t look up, but he can feel his eyes on him.

 

He pulls open the door and slides in, searching for Robert’s face in the dark. “Hi,” he says softly, once he’s found it.

 

Robert smiles at him, just a little. “Hi.”

 

It’s quiet as he backs the truck out and onto the street, the only sounds between them the distant chirping of crickets and the rush of the air filtering through the half-open windows. All of the houses on the street are dark. Not even Craig is awake at this early hour.

 

“Thought we’d head down to the pier,” Robert says before Adrian has the chance to ask him where they’re going. “Maybe watch the sun come up. If that’s alright.”

 

Adrian nods and rubs his still-bleary eyes, brings a hand up to stifle his yawn. Robert hangs a left at the stop sign, taking the long, winding road that weaves around the edge of the town and out to the sea. There are only a few other cars on the road, and Adrian wonders if, like him, at this late hour the people driving them have found someone to stay awake for.

 

The marina is utterly deserted when they get there. Robert drives around for a few minutes before settling on a parking space in an empty lot next to a bar, overlooking the ocean. Adrian expects him to get out of the car, maybe whip out a carving knife and sit on the hood like the last time they did anything like this, but to his surprise, Robert just leans his seat back and pops the top off a carton of cigarettes to reveal two or three pre-rolled joints and an old Bic lighter.

 

Adrian feels laughter bubble up in his throat as Robert selects one, pinching the end between his thumb and forefinger before he sticks it in between his teeth and lights it. “Seriously?” he asks, looking around to make sure there’s no one within a thirty-foot radius of the truck. “Here?”

 

Robert shoots him a poignant look that somehow manages to communicate both _yes_ and _you’re a fucking nerd._ He takes another puff before passing the joint over to Adrian, who absolutely fucks up on the inhale and sits there hacking his lungs up for a good three minutes.

 

“Square,” Robert accuses.

 

“Shut up,” Adrian coughs out, but there’s no bite to it. The coughing lasts for another minute or two and then subsides, and then it’s just the two of them sitting there in the silence of the truck.

 

Neither of them says anything for the first few minutes, swapping hits as the joint passes back and forth between the two of them. Adrian sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the waves splashing down by the docks, smelling smoke and the salt of the sea. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze shifts over to Robert, who’s tapping away the ash against the edge of the window with a peculiar expression on his face, his mouth opening and closing just slightly, as there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to get out.

 

“Something wrong?” Adrian asks, and Robert gives a start.

 

“It’s Val,” he says after a moment's pause. Adrian waits for him to elaborate, but Robert just keeps on staring straight ahead, like he can’t bring himself to look back at Adrian, like he’s ashamed to. He takes one long, final drag out of the joint, ashes it against the dashboard, and tosses the roach out the window before he exhales out all the air in his lungs and speaks again. “I don’t… I still don’t think I’m cut out to be a father. Don’t know if I ever will be.”

 

Adrian frowns. “What makes you say that?”

 

Robert lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Look at me, Adrian. I’m almost fifty. I’m too old to be doing this, running after her asking if she wants to try again.”

 

Adrian almost snorts. “Too old?” he repeats, eyes drifting to the spot of ash still staining the dashboard. “I didn’t know you were too old for anything.”

 

Robert looks up at him, finally, his eyes wide open and unsure. It takes Adrian a moment to realize that it’s because he’s afraid. He feels a wave of sympathy crash over him, and suddenly, his fingers itch with the urge to reach over and take Robert’s hand. It’s a gesture that would probably end in disaster, though, so he screws up the last of his courage so that he can say what needs to be said.

 

“You have to try,” he says, bracing himself for a reaction that doesn’t come. When he looks up at Robert, the other man is silent and still as a statue in the darkness of the cab. “It isn’t about you. It’s about her. It’s about proving something to someone you love. Even if you have to go back there fifty times, a hundred times, you have to keep trying, because it’ll show her that you mean it. It’ll show her that you care.”

 

Robert shakes his head. “It won’t work--”

 

“It will.” Adrian’s voice is firm. Robert looks more uncomfortable than he’s ever seen him, like the very idea makes him want to get up and run away, but he stays right where he is. “It will,” Adrian repeats himself, softer this time. “She’ll understand. She’ll recognize it for what it is. A leap of faith.”

 

_A leap of faith._ The words reverberate in his mind, and somewhere, something clicks into place. Adrian leans forward, and closes his eyes.

 

At first it’s nothing, but the tentative press of his lips against Robert’s is enough to send a chill down his spine and his heart into overdrive. Then Robert shudders against him, a full-body reaction to what’s been too long coming now, days and weeks and months building to this. Somehow he reaches up, gets a hand behind Adrian’s neck, and then they’re kissing harder. Robert’s tongue swipes at his bottom lip, and Adrian’s suddenly torn between wanting to crawl over the center console to get closer and feeling like he’s going to crawl right out of his skin.

 

Robert kisses thoroughly, reverently, like he’s been meaning to do it for a long time. He tastes like salt and sweat and smoke, and Adrian finds that he’s enthralled.

 

The dawn is starting to break by the time they finally pull apart. Robert looks at Adrian, eyes swimming with some imperceptible emotion, and says, “Let’s go home.”

 

\--

 

It feels a lot like it did the first time, sneaking into Robert’s house in the early hours of the morning.

 

Adrian checks their surroundings twice before getting out of the car, and then again on the porch while Robert is shuffling through his keys, looking for the one that goes to the front door. He’s expecting to run into Craig, out for his morning run, or maybe Brian and his daughter walking their dog, but thankfully, all is quiet as Robert unlocks the door and they stumble inside.

 

The door barely has time to click shut behind them, and then Robert is on him, crowding him back against it, pressing in close and kissing him hard enough to leave bruises. His lips are chapped, face rough and slightly scratchy from the stubble on his chin. He’s got a hand up Adrian’s shirt already, fingers splayed over his abdomen, and Adrian groans into his mouth, dizzy with want. He drags a hand up, palm sliding against Robert’s scalp, feeling all of a sudden as though he needs something to hold onto.

 

There’s no light in the pitch blackness of the entryway, but Adrian doesn’t need to see to feel the shiver that goes through Robert when he twists his fingers into the other man’s hair and pulls slightly. Robert makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat before getting a knee between Adrian’s legs, wedging them open and pressing their bodies together in a single hot, solid line. Adrian scrabbles back against the door at the contact, his free hand fumbling for purchase against the hard surface as Robert moves lower, mouthing at the long column of Adrian’s neck.

 

“We should--” Adrian starts and stops with a choked-off noise as Robert bites at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder blade, and even to his own ears, he sounds absolutely wrecked.

 

It doesn’t matter what he had planned to say, because in the next moment Robert’s kissing him again, long and deep, swallowing the words up with his tongue. “I know,” he whispers, breathing hotly against his lips.

 

It’s half a miracle that they’re able to climb the stairs up to Robert’s bedroom in their current state, but somehow, they manage. Robert kisses him again before pressing him down onto the mattress, and Adrian pulls him down with him, their legs tangling together as they fall. The sun is starting to come up, the light spilling in through the cracks in the blinds, and when he looks up Robert is hovering above him, his face lit up in swatches of orange and gold.

 

He looks so beautiful that it’s a little hard for Adrian to breathe around it, the air catching in his throat. Robert gives him a strange look, the self-consciousness evident on his face when he says, “What are you looking at, pretty boy, don’t tell me this is your first rodeo--” and Adrian kisses him again to get him to shut up, but he’s smiling.

 

Robert sits back on his knees to rid himself first of his shirt and then his pants. Adrian takes the opportunity to get out of his own clothes before Robert is pulling his hands away, saying, “Let me,” and yeah, okay, that pretty much goes straight to his dick. Robert’s muscles flex as he slides Adrian’s shirt off of him, and Adrian’s mouth goes dry at the sight of his body, at the dark trail of hair that starts on his chest and goes all the way down.

 

A few moment’s later, they’re both naked and sweating, the skin on skin contact and the feeling of Robert’s touch leaving Adrian breathless as Robert pins him to the mattress, calloused hands skimming down his sides, over his abdomen, anywhere and everywhere all at once. Robert is all hooded eyes and broad shoulders and warm brown skin above him, and Adrian makes a noise that’s close to a sob when he finally gets a hand around his cock.

 

Robert’s eyes are on his face, gauging his reaction as he jerks him slowly, swiping a thumb over the head once, then again, harder this time. “So, how do you wanna do this?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a shudder through Adrian’s chest.

 

“Don’t care,” Adrian grits out, hips twitching as he tries to thrust shallowly into Robert’s fist. “Just want you to fuck me.”

 

When he looks up again, Robert’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he leans over Adrian, reaching for something inside the drawer of his nightstand. Adrian watches him squirt lube onto his hand, and then there’s nothing left to do but brace himself for the first long, deep press, the sure, sliding burn of Robert’s fingers inside of him. Robert goes slow, adding one digit at a time and crooking his fingers in a way that has Adrian seeing stars.

 

He tries to remember when the last time was that he did something like this, but right now he’s having some trouble thinking about anything other than Robert’s hands on him. “Robert,” he says raggedly, after Robert is four fingers deep inside him and Adrian is gasping, panting, trying to rock back onto them, slick and spread open and half-begging for more.

 

“Alright, alright,” Robert answers, removing his fingers and pulling away just long enough to tear open a condom and roll it onto himself. He slicks up his cock with one hand using the remainder of the lube, his eyes locked on Adrian’s all the while.

 

Adrian squirms, spreads his legs a little wider as Robert moves to get between them. “Wait,” he says suddenly, and Adrian is about to protest when Robert wraps an arm around him, using the leverage to reverse their positions so that it’s Robert lying back against the pillows with Adrian on his knees above him. “Like this.”

 

It’s more than a little awkward, Robert using his free hand to line up the head as Adrian struggles to hold himself upright, but then he’s sinking down onto Robert’s cock, and all of a sudden it’s anything but. Robert stays still, giving him time to breathe through the initial feeling of being stretched and full. Like whiskey, it’s a feeling that burns all the way down.

 

A few moments later, Robert begins to move, setting a steady pace that has Adrian rolling his hips instinctively in an effort to take him as far as he’ll go. After a minute or two, he shifts again, their position changing to one in which Robert is holding him up, sitting back on his knees with his hands planted on Adrian’s hips, looking up at him with a question in his eyes. Adrian nods, just once, and then Robert starts thrusting in earnest, fucking him up and down on his cock.

 

It’s almost too much, the intensity of the position enough for Robert to hit his prostate at just the right angle, causing him to cry out as he wraps his arms around Robert’s shoulders and hangs on. Robert reaches up and gets a hand around his ponytail and pulls once, and just like that, Adrian’s coming hard between them, his entire body going taut as a wire before Robert follows, only a few strokes behind.

 

They come down like that together, Robert still holding him close, and when he asks, “You’re not thinkin’ of running away again, are you?” it’s so absurd that Adrian has to laugh.

 

He could say a lot of things to that, he thinks, staring at the man in front of him, this emotionally stunted, awkward man he’s come to know and maybe even love. He could tell Robert that he’s got it wrong, that this entire time, it’s been the other way around. He could tell him yes, just to see what would happen. There might be a time and a place to say those things, but it’s not here, not now.

 

“Like hell,” Adrian says, and kisses him again.

 

\--

 

“Hey.” Adrian looks up just in time to see Amanda poke her head into the hallway. “Do you know where the lights for the tree are? Val wanted to know.”

 

Adrian climbs down from his spot on the step ladder, balancing a large cardboard box labeled _lights and garlands_ in his arms. “Way ahead of you,” he says, passing it over once he gets both feet on the ground. “I’m surprised you didn’t remember, especially after the big fuss you made last year.”

 

“Uh, because you were gonna put them in the garage. Like, with all of the nasty bugs and spiders,” she tells him, a look of abject revulsion on her face. “Anyway, you can come help us, if you want. We’re just finishing up.”

 

Adrian grabs the ladder and follows her in the living room, where Val is sitting in the center of the floor, trying and failing to unravel a ball of tinsel bigger than Betsy, who’s lying fast asleep on the ground under the tree.

 

“We thought it would look pretty if we hung some of it up around the windows,” Amanda explains.

 

“It would be easier if it wasn’t all silver and gold,” Val grumbles, hurling Adrian an accusatory look, as though she’s holding him personally responsible for this travesty. “Like, all of it. Seriously, who does that?”

 

“We’re nothing if not color-coordinated,” Adrian says brightly.

 

The front door opens and they turn around to see Robert coming in, red-faced and covered in snow after his time spent shoveling snow off the walk. Adrian crosses the room to help him out of his coat and scarf, and then Robert’s pressing a frosty kiss to the corner of his mouth that does a splendid job of making him feel warm and cold all at the same time.

 

“Ew,” says Val, followed by Amanda piping up with, “ugh, _Dad_ ,” and Robert just laughs against him, like it’s the best Christmas gift he’s ever received to still be able to embarrass his daughter after all this time.

 

“Hey, what’s this?” Adrian reaches for the package tucked under Robert’s arm, a hastily-wrapped parcel that’s vaguely the size and shape of a small tire. It’s got a label on it that says _to my boys. merry xmas_ in looping, sophisticated handwriting.

 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Robert says. “Every year, Joseph’s mom whips out the same disgusting fruitcake recipe and makes a batch for Mary and the kids. Don’t know if you know this about Mary, but around this time of year she gets a little prone to regifting.”

 

Val nods solemnly from her spot on the carpet. Adrian just laughs, and then Amanda’s vaulting over the back of the couch, because of course she’s not going to back down from a challenge like that. Her grin stretches from ear to ear as she wheedles _please Robert,_ and _let’s all try a piece_ and _come on, don’t be a wuss._ Robert groans in defeat like that’s all it takes to coerce him and Adrian goes into the kitchen for some forks, and even Val puts down the tinsel as they all sit down to eat right there on the living room floor.

 

“You’re right, that’s awful,” Amanda says after the first bite, chewing with her mouth full, and Val shoots her a look like _no shit, Sherlock_. Robert starts laughing and Betsy wakes up and starts barking and Adrian just sits there looking on, feeling the need to pinch himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming. The air outside is cold, the living room is soft and warm, and when Robert looks back at him there’s the familiar weight in his chest to keep him grounded, like a steady anchor, like the promise of tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.

 

Adrian can hardly wait.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my amazing beta, Rene! Without her, this, like all of my works, would never have been published.
> 
> This was super hard for me to write and took way longer than I anticipated, so I hope I'm not showing up super late to the party by publishing this now. In any case, thanks for reading!


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